


The Bear Necessities

by nerddowell



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zookeeper AU, Brad is just a lonely ostrich with a crush, Chevalier giving all the animals ridiculous names, Fluff, Humour, I would like to emphasise that no bestiality between the Chevalier and Brad the Ostrich occurs, M/M, Philippe being Pestered by Animals, my boyfriend made me write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: Philippe glowers at the bundle. He remembers all too well Simba, and before him Pascal the iguana (named, at Chev’s insistence, after the iguana fromTangled) who had clung to Philippe’s hat and refused to get off even when Philippe had to return him to the reptile exhibit when he clocked off. Before even Pascal, there were the six Mandarin ducklings who had pattered around on tiny flat feet after Philippe as though he were some sort of avian Mary Poppins for a whole month until Louis put his foot down. Philippe has something of a reputation as the zookeeper who always has some animal or another trailing after him, and it is always Chev’s fault.





	The Bear Necessities

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to call this 'Animal Attraction' but given the fact that I've already had to clarify that the Brad/Chevalier 'relationship' is an ostrich's unrequited crush on a human, I thought a title that could imply otherwise maybe wasn't the best idea. I'm still not entirely happy with the whole thing, but I can stand it in its current state.
> 
> This one is dedicated to Dan, my favourite loser, for being weird enough to inspire this trash.

Philippe wakes up to Chev’s face two inches away from his. He yelps, flailing his arms, and rocks back on his chair nearly far enough to topple over and crack his head on the Portakabin floor, but Chev catches him deftly with one hand. Philippe is a little embarrassed to have been caught sleeping in his office whilst on the job, but he’d been up until four a.m. last night trying to get Élodie the giant panda to show the blindest bit of interest in the male they’d brought in for her to mate with. Instead, she’d chewed her bamboo and stared balefully directly at him for three hours, as if daring him to come in there and do anything about it. Rohan, who worked with her every day, found it hilarious (until he fell asleep at one a.m. and snored louder than the four warthogs in Philippe’s Africa exhibit all put together). He’s about to thank Chev for his efforts until he spots the bundle of blankets smelling of raw meat and making soft yowling noises in the other man’s arms, and the shit-eating grin on his face.

‘No,’ he says point-blank. ‘Do I look ready to become a father to you?’

‘It’s a present.’

‘It’s another one of your demon hellspawn sent to pester me into an early grave,’ Philippe retorts, remembering Simba the lion cub – another one of Chev’s waifs and strays, who had become rather attached to Philippe, even going so far as to attack and bite his legs if he tried to leave Simba in the Savannah exhibit where he belonged. Philippe has seen the CCTV videos of Chev, wearing a baboon mask, lifting Simba up from the top of the rock in the African exhibit whilst Arnaud from the Asia enclosure sang the _Circle of Life_. They’d gotten into big trouble with Bontemps, the general overseer of the zoo, for their ‘total disregard for the dignity and safety of the animals involved’ and had nearly been suspended, until the video somehow got leaked onto YouTube and went viral. Then there’d been a press furore and Chev _had_ been suspended, but eventually he was allowed back under the strict implication that nothing similar would ever happen again.

‘What is it?’ Philippe asks suspiciously.

‘Unwrap it and see!’

Chev dumps the bundle of yowling, wriggling blankets into Philippe’s arms and retreats, retying his hair into its usual manically curly bun and wiggling his fingers with a ‘Tata!’

Philippe glowers at the bundle. He remembers all too well Simba, and before him Pascal the iguana (named, at Chev’s insistence, after the iguana from _Tangled_ ) who had clung to Philippe’s hat and refused to get off even when Philippe had to return him to the reptile exhibit when he clocked off. Before even Pascal, there were the six Mandarin ducklings who had pattered around on tiny flat feet after Philippe as though he were some sort of avian Mary Poppins for a whole month until Louis put his foot down. Philippe has something of a reputation as the zookeeper who always has some animal or another trailing after him, and it is always Chev’s fault.

Still, he peels the blankets away gently to reveal a tiny spectacled bear cub, her skin still slick with amniotic fluids and sticky with blood. At least it’s the end of the day, and all his other animals are bedded down or at least heading that way when they decide to. He sighs gently and carries her, still in her blankets, to the veterinary capsule a short distance from his office to wash her down. He sits her in the metal tub and turns on the shower head, smiling as she yowls quietly, confused by the new experience. He takes the opportunity to look her over – eyes still closed, hands and feet perfectly formed, her nose damp and black – and he gently holds her in the bath, clipping the shower head into the wall mount and fetching the soap to scrub her clean. She’s not fond of getting a bath – her claws, he discovers, though new, are still sharp – but is more than happy to be bundled up in clean blankets afterwards, still yowling hungrily.

He makes up a bottle of milk – the zoo always has back supplies for this sort of thing, just in case, and they’d known that Maya, their adult spectacled bear, was expecting anyway – and sits with her for a little while, smiling at the way she greedily sucks down the milk, spilling some over her jaws and chin. He cleans her up with the edge of a blanket, just like he would a human baby, and picks her up again in her blankets, resting her against his shoulder so she can hear his heartbeat.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ Philippe asks, a little wearily – he can see a lot more late nights on the horizon – but carries her back to his cabin, where he puts together a makeshift nest bed and lays his fleece over her shoulders. The bear cub buries herself in the snarl of blankets and fleece and covers her head with his jacket. Philippe smiles, laying on the couch next to her and listening to her fall asleep. He considers names briefly: Paddington, for the Peruvian spectacled bear from the stories, but he was a male bear and she’s female. Mathilde. Chloë. Sophie, after the doe-eyed intern in Montcourt’s reptile exhibit. Nathalie. But none of them seem to fit until he looks at her and thinks, _Eva_. It clicks, and he whispers it to her whilst smoothing the blankets over her back in gentle, repetitive circles, as though putting a human baby to sleep.

Her soft snuffles and quiet snores quickly soothe him into a deep sleep too, and his hand falls off the edge of the couch to rest protectively over her back until she wakes up again, yowling to be fed.

He prepares another bottle and sits feeding her, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He wonders why Maya rejected her, why her mother didn’t immediately lick her clean and draw her close like she must have done her other cub. Spectacled bears usually had two in a litter, he knew that. He wonders if she’s just the smallest and the weakest, perhaps. Just out of favour.

He can sympathise with that.  


* * *

  
As Philippe had predicted, by the time Eva opens her eyes – about five weeks after Chev handed her over to Philippe in her tangle of blankets – she’s totally devoted to him. Her eyes blink open to the sight of him smiling and holding out his arms, and she takes shaky steps over to him in her lumbering bear fashion. She knows him straight away by smell, but that doesn’t stop her giving him a good once-over with her nose before climbing up his leg and batting at his chin to be held. And from then on, pretty much, she becomes his small, bespectacled shadow.

‘ _Ee_ -va,’ becomes his long-suffering catchphrase as he catches her climbing the bookcase again to play with the potted plants atop it, or yowling beneath a mess of curtains after having tried to climb them to swing from the curtainpole; he picks them off her carefully and can’t help but laugh as she bounds out from under them to sit at his feet, holding her arms up exactly like a toddler asking to be held. She’s cleverer than he ever gave her credit for, reminding him of his trainer from when he started working at the zoo. The thought makes him feel a little cold, and he picks Eva up to wrap her in a hug.

‘I spoil you,’ he murmurs into her fur, and she yowls in agreement as he carries her into the yard to play. She’s agile, even for a such a tiny creature, and he rolls fruits along the ground for her to catch and eat. She’s fond of bamboo, so he pinches a couple of stalks from the giant pandas’ food to give her for a treat, and sits watching her chew, small sharp teeth grinding away at the tough stalks. Her favourite, though, is honey. She’s such a junkie for it that he soon learns to lock his breakfast jar away from her in the trunk under his bed, although that doesn’t stop her from smelling it and scratching at the chest, trying to get it open. Every so often, he drizzles a tablespoonful or so over her bamboo, and laughs as she licks it all off eagerly, her jaws and paws sticky.

He’s come home to another attempted break-in today, and he carries her out of his bedroom to shut the door firmly behind him. She gazes up at him, her eyes huge and plaintive, and yowls.

‘No. Otherwise I’ll have to give you another T-O-O-T-H-B-R-U-S-H.’ He’s not entirely sure she understands the concept but the look of revulsion on her face suggests she does remember the disastrous last attempt to dislodge a bit of honeycomb (a gift from Chev, who seems to love making Philippe’s attempt to be a responsible bear-parent as difficult as possible, and spoils Eva even more than Philippe does) from her back teeth. She had yowled and thrashed, and it had nearly taken a tranquiliser to get her still enough to ease it out from where it had gotten stuck, and both she and Philippe had glared balefully at one another and mutually decided it was an experience neither wanted to relive any time soon.

‘Come on. I’ve got work.’ He pats his leg gently, summoning her from where she’s rifling through his kitchen drawers, and she lollops after him happily, her eyes bright and curious.

The lions in Philippe’s enclosure yawn in greeting, showing enormous teeth, and the male shakes his mane out with a grandiose movement as Eva eyes up the trees and scuttles towards them, already trying to climb. Trees are much easier than Philippe’s curtains, but they’re also the main territory of a leopard with a nasty temper – Reynaud, who has the equivalent of behavioural therapy every week with Claudine (helped by Sophie). Philippe plucks her out of the tree before she can climb too high – and before Reynaud can get to her – and sits her on his hip as he comes to investigate the lion cubs, by now around six months old themselves. There are six of them in all, three each from two of the lionesses. Chev was, by some massive oversight, allowed to name them, so the zoo’s six newly minted lions were named Rachel, Ross, Monica, Joey, Chandler and Phoebe.

He’d been very proud of himself for that, Philippe remembers with a roll of his eyes. He makes a mental note to sign Liselotte’s ‘Never Let Chev Name New Animals Ever Again’ petition. _Friends_ characters wasn’t even the worst of it; there were the two baby Capuchins named after the _Supernatural_ brothers, Sam and Dean, and the grumpiest elephant named after his ex-girlfriend (Daphne). Philippe shakes his head with a smile and scratches Eva behind her ears.

‘Good thing he didn’t get to you, huh? Can you imagine? You’d have ended up a Dorothy, and your brother a Toto.’ The lions are fine, doing their thing – lazing around in the grass, with the cubs rolling around in affectionate chaos around them – so he exits the enclosure and carries Eva to the spectacled bear exhibit, where Liselotte is engaged with Maya and her son Gavroche (after the _Les Misérables_ character; surprisingly _not_ Chev’s choice). Philippe points down to them, showing Eva.

‘Look, ’Roche’s playing. And there’s your maman, as well.’

Eva makes curious noises, but when Maya spots them and makes her husky roaring sound, she flinches back from the enclosure fence and settles back against Philippe sadly.  


* * *

  
Philippe is put on rotation for a couple of weeks, covering staff absences in other enclosures, which goes well for all of fifteen minutes before Eva tries to follow him into the veterinary centre where he’s trying to deal with an injured ostrich and the orderlies bar her from entering. She sits under the window, yowling as though her heart is breaking, and he rolls his eyes as he holds the tranquilised bird steady for the repair of a wound on its neck inflicted from a fight with another male. This particular ostrich – Brad (after Brad Pitt) – is Chev’s favourite. He’s also a peculiar sort of ostrich in that he shows very little regard for females of the species, and instead saves his mating dances for humans – and one human in particular. There have been more than a few instances of laughing visitors filming Brad displaying for Chev, and Chev responding with the sort of shimmy-wiggle he usually saves for four a.m. at the club when he’s had one too many tequila slammers.

Philippe enquires as to whether Chev and Brad have set the date for the wedding, and Chev responds with a roll of his eyes.

‘Be serious.’

‘I am wild.’

‘You did not just quote _Les Misérables_!’ Chev beams. ‘Forget bird-brain here, it’s you I should be marrying, darling.’

‘I dread the day,’ Philippe responds dryly, and hands the orderly a roll of gauze to bandage another, more superficial wound on Brad’s leg. Chev ignores him in favour of cooing soothingly to his beloved ostrich. Philippe catches the vet’s eye and imitates Chev’s drunken Brad wiggle, and the vet has to smother a laugh into a cough, his brown eyes sparkling. The surgery goes well, however, and Brad is left in a recovery pen with Chev as company until he awakens a few minutes later. Philippe helps Chev transport Brad, still slightly wobbly on his gangly legs, back to his enclosure, accompanied by an overjoyed Eva.

Philippe leaves her to investigate the new surroundings – beetles she’s not seen before, a crisp packet blowing in the wind, a ball of feathers – and turns to Chev, who is resting against the fence and whispering sweet nothings to Brad.

‘You shouldn’t encourage him, you know. They’re supposed to mate with their own kind, not humans. Can you imagine what would happen? Freakish mixed-species babies like those dragon-donkey babies in _Shrek_ , only they’d have his tiny head and your ridiculous hair.’ He picks up a stick and sketches a likeness in the sandy ground, laughing when Chev shoves him roughly and strokes Brad’s ruffled feathers.

‘Don’t listen to him, Bradley,’ he whispers, ‘you’re gorgeous, I’m gorgeous, and we would have gorgeous freakish mixed-species babies, were it genetically possible.’ He turns to Philippe. ‘How else am I ever going to be able to say I got it on with Brad Pitt?’

‘Nobody would believe you, they’d ask for clarification, and you would be forced to admit that Brad Pitt was an ostrich you look after at the zoo. Also, you’d be fired and probably jailed for indecency and cruelty to animals laws.’

‘You make the world so joyless,’ Chev sniffs, but he rolls his shoulders in his zoo polo shirt and grins at Philippe.

‘Speaking of dates, though. Would you like to come out with myself and the rest of the bird-brains? We’re going for drinks on Friday to celebrate Béatrice’s leaving, and everyone has asked me to invite you to come. You’re so antisocial with your solitude and your bear–’

‘My bear who was foisted upon me by you, I might remind you.’

‘– and it’s about time you let that beautiful hair of yours down,’ Chev plows on, ignoring Philippe entirely. ‘People have been asking when we’re going to finally get together. I think it’s a ploy to steal me away from under Brad’s nose.’ He pauses. ‘Under his beak?’

‘Far be it from me to steal you away from your most fervent admirer,’ Philippe says, laughing, and tickles Brad under his fuzzy chin. The ostrich bites at his hand grumpily, and he pulls away sharply. ‘Takes after his boyfriend, I see. I think I’m going to have to decline any future ‘get-togethers’ with you on pain of Brad’s ingenuity.’

‘I’m insulted on my beloved’s behalf. Brad is the sweetest-tempered creature on site!’ Chev protests, but his eyes are twinkling. ‘I do wish you’d come, though. It’s sure to be dull, since Édouard is organising, but I suppose I could endure a night of his attempts at festivity with you, darling.’

Philippe goes cold for a moment, temper sparking. ‘Well, since it’s such a terrible bore to you and since you’re oh-so-desperate to crowbar me out of my shell by forcibly enduring my company then I suppose I have to say yes,’ he bites out. Then he snarls, ‘Go to hell,’ and ignores Brad’s insulted honking as Chev looks affronted.

‘You can be pricklier than your dratted porcupines sometimes, you know!’ he hollers after Philippe.

‘Fuck off!’

Eva lollops after him as he storms out of the bird enclosure, and Philippe picks her up to bury his face in her fur. She snuffles softly and nuzzles closer, and he promises himself he will go nowhere near the bar with Chev and the rest of his bird-brains this Friday.

As things turn out, Liselotte comes over on the Friday evening to find Philippe in a pair of Captain America pyjamas and wrapped in a duvet on the couch with Eva tucked in beside him. She’s got a small tub of honey, which her muzzle and paws are coated in and is therefore nearly empty, and Philippe has got a carton of Ben & Jerry’s which is also running low. She doesn’t bother even saying hello, just comes and sits on the beanbag at Philippe’s feet and passes him up the wine she’s brought and a plastic glass. Eva looks curiously at the bottle, and Philippe places it beside the couch arm with a firm ‘No’.

‘I wasn’t aware she understood the word ‘no’,’ Liselotte teases. She opens a bag of wine gums and pops a couple into her mouth as she shifts to get comfortable, picking up the DVD box ( _Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason_ ) to read the back of it.

‘Oh, she understands. Whether or not she obeys is another question,’ Philippe says with a fondly exasperated look at Eva. ‘Isn’t it, you little horror?’

Eva blinks back innocently and he smiles.

‘I heard Chev and his lot tried to rope you into another night of tequila and regret,’ Liselotte adds, pouring herself a large glass of wine and settling back with her head resting against Philippe’s knees. He spreads his legs a little to accommodate her head more comfortably, and offers her the ice cream carton and his spoon. She licks it clean, then digs out a spoonful for herself.

‘I couldn’t find a babysitter,’ Philippe says wryly, and she snorts softly.

‘When are you two going to stop dancing around one another?’ Liselotte asks, her eyes on Bridget in her too-tight yellow satin dress onscreen.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, is it going to get to the point where we have to lock the pair of you in the mating enclosure to get you to actually admit your feelings for each other? We all saw you at last year’s Christmas party, going at it like a pair of peacocks. Coy glances, striking poses, chests thrust out. I thought Chev was going to pick up a pair of fans and perform his bloody Brad dance for you.’ She puts down the wine gums to pick up a pair of magazines from the coffee table to demonstrate, shaking her curly blonde hair and waggling _Vogue_ and _L’Officiel Hommes_ like a demented bat. Philippe struggles to maintain his deadpan expression despite a laugh bubbling up in his throat, before she flops back down onto the beanbag with a sigh.

‘Chev is ridiculous, rude, a pain in my arse and the last man on earth I would look to get together with,’ Philippe retorts, tapping her head with his spoon.

Liselotte raises an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘In any case, he’s far too aware of how gorgeous he is. It’s sickening.’

‘It’s also exactly the kind of thing you love in a man. If you had a problem with vain men you’d never have dated any of your exes. Michel, Claude, Robert, Armand, Jules, Philippe, Thomas–’

‘Shut up,’ he mumbles into a spoonful of ice cream, and Eva licks a dribble of it off his chin.  


* * *

  
It would seem that even the animals sympathise with the rest of the staff’s exasperation with Philippe and Chev, because during one evening shift when they’re both cleaning out the monkey enclosure, one of the Capuchin twins (Philippe suspects Dean, ever the more mischievous of the pair) manages to get his tiny paws on the keys and locks them inside before retreating to the top of his tree with a chittering sound Philippe can only interpret as tiny, evil giggles.

Naturally, no amount of coaxing will get him down again, or even get him to drop the key fob; appeals to the monkeys’ handlers, Athénaïs and Louise, are met with laughter and mockery almost worse than the amusement of the creatures in the enclosure with them. In the treetops above them, Dean and Sam begin a game of catch with the keys, which allows brief hope for the keys to be dropped before they realise that Capuchins’ tiny hands are more prehensile – and better at catch – than they had previously been given credit. Philippe is sure that Athénaïs has been training them for this exact moment purely to amuse herself, and no doubt Louis in his director’s office as well. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her.

Eventually, conceding defeat, he slumps at the bottom of Dean’s perch, glaring at the monkey who blinks and chitters back happily, jangling the keys. Chev sits himself beside him a little way away, and lets his hair down out of its bun.

‘Do you suppose we’ll be trapped here all night?’

‘If Dean won’t give the keys back, yes. Athénaïs certainly won’t let us out, and I think she’s gotten to Louise.’

Chev sighs heavily. ‘I meant no offence the other day, you know. I was simply trying to invite you to spend time with me. Us.’

‘You phrased it as though you had been forced under duress. Like a child who has to give out party invites to everyone in his class, even the ones he hates.’ Philippe picks at the aglet of his laces, scuffing the ground with his heel. Small clouds of dust billow up around his ankles, and he watches the dust settle again instead of looking at Chev, whose eyes he can feel on his cheek.

‘Never.’ Chev shakes his head. ‘You know, I rather feel that I’ve been trying to entice you for months, darling, and you’ve been so blind to it I can suddenly understand how Brad feels.’

‘Are you comparing yourself to Brad Pitt the ostrich?’

‘Willingly? Yes, to my eternal chagrin. Surely you understand that,’ Chev says quietly. Philippe has to strain to hear him over the rustling of the trees and the long grass in the enclosure, and Sam and Dean’s chattering high above them.

‘You have been trying to ‘entice’ me? How? By being an aggravating idiot?’

‘You’ve not exactly been a walk in the park yourself–’

‘Of course! Of course this is my fault. Everything you blame on me. First you pester me with every creature left alone for twenty seconds in the entire zoo, ending up with me being followed around my job by an entire menagerie for the past six months. Then you invite me out with you and your friends, which is somehow classified as a date in your insane personal world, before implying that you will have to ‘endure’ my company as though I am some sort of social plague. And now you’re attacking me for not seeing how any of this behaviour could possibly have been conducive to starting any kind of romance!’

‘You insufferable beast!’ Chev shouts back. ‘You make no attempt whatsoever to understand my motivations for doing anything, nor my meaning when I invite you out for the pleasure of your company. Do you realise how much we have all missed you, outside of work? You never leave!’

‘And whose fault is that?’ Philippe explodes. ‘You’re the one lumbering me with all of the extra work out of hours by giving me all the damn animals in the first place!’

‘For goodness’ sake, why on earth do you think I gave _you_ Eva? And Simba? And Pascal, and the ducklings?’ Chev asks, rolling his eyes to the heavens. His voice softens. ‘You have the gentlest hands, and the kindest manner, darling. You love them as no one else will. I’m too selfish, too involved with myself. Louis and Bontemps too busy. Rohan, Athénaïs, Louise, they’re as bad as, if not worse than me. Liselotte and Sophie are still too new, although it was Liselotte’s idea. You care, mignonette, more about the animals than anyone else. You’ve been so lonely since Henriette left and truly, I only wanted to see you smile again.’

Philippe’s gut clenches at the mention of Henriette. She didn’t leave so much as suffer a fatal asthma attack on her day off a year ago, which Philippe was only informed of upon returning to work the morning after. The zoo had organised bereavement cover, but he’d refused it, continuing to work in her enclosure and taking over as its general overseer. In fact, he’d thrown himself headlong into work to push dealing with her death away.

‘You think a couple of animals could fill that hole?’ he asks bitterly, and Chev sighs.

‘Nothing can fill the hole, darling, I know that. But I thought they might soothe, at least.’

Philippe sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. ‘I suppose they did. Do.’

‘That’s all I wanted.’

He gives Chev a small smile. ‘Thanks, then. I guess.’

Chev shifts closer, still a little warily, and wraps an arm around Philippe’s waist, leaning his curly head on Philippe’s shoulder. Philippe breathes in deeply, the scent of sweat and Brad’s food and the barest trace of coconut shampoo clinging to Chev’s hair, and allows himself to enjoy the moment whilst it lasts.

There’s a metallic jingling thud at their feet a moment later; Dean has dropped the keys, and Chev scoops them up to let themselves out of the enclosure. Philippe is about to turn to leave when he spins and grasps Chev’s arm instead, his eyes on his colleague’s face.

‘Also,’ he murmurs, ‘if you ever want to go for a proper date with drinks and without your aviary friends… I’m free Fridays. I can get Liselotte to babysit Eva.’

Chev smiles, and the lady herself comes lolloping into the enclosure to climb Philippe’s leg and settle herself between them, looking from one to the other with large, liquid brown eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever seen _Night At The Museum_? The monkey, Dexter? Totally the inspiration for this fic. Other than walking around a park with statues of animals made from wire that inspired a conversation with my boyfriend about Monchevy being ridiculous zookeepers (because why not). We take our fandom contribution seriously, you guys.
> 
> If you want to see something hilarious (and relevant) watch [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PRmDSJUPLo) video of an ostrich (let's call him Brad) performing his mating dance, set to the dulcet tones of Li'l Wayne's _Turn Down For What_. I can't watch for longer than about twenty seconds without cracking up. THE NECK.
> 
> Alternatively, if you've been living under a rock and haven't yet seen it, there's [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PRmDSJUPLo) vine of a two-year-old telling a monkey sat on the bonnet of his car to 'fuck off!' which also makes me laugh.


End file.
